


Slow

by lavenderbees



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Porn Without Plot, Short, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12069693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderbees/pseuds/lavenderbees
Summary: uh read the title and the tags???





	Slow

**Author's Note:**

> idk i just never hear much about this ship and i'm not even good at writing smut i jsut had a sudden urge,,, children shield your eyes plz and thank you <3

“Ah, fuck me, _fick mich_ , ja, ja, ja, fick, fick!" 

The albino screamed into the silky hair he pulled desperately at. His body bounced with the rhythm created by the smiling French under him. Warm hands braced themselves against the sweaty small of his back, giving gentle reminders to keep it arched before his eager, thirsty thrusts downwards.

Outside the window, stars spread out against a black backdrop like a display made just for them, though they couldn't see it. The night outside was cold, but inside all they felt was infuriating heat. From the warm puffs of breath against his collarbone to the hot lips sucking on his left nipple, Gilbert wasn't sure that he could focus on without going mad. His snow white hair flew back along with his head, and he moaned up to the ceiling, to God, to anyone up there because _fuck_ , it felt good and he couldn't get enough. 

"Slow down,” Francis whispered in his ear, trying to slacken the fast pace being set. “The night is still so young. I want us to enjoy it.”

“And I want you to fuck me until my back breaks. You always go too slow!” Gilbert wiggled his ass impatiently, trying to bring it back down. The pool of desire in his stomach intensified with each passing second, so much so that he thought he would burst. 

“We have all the time in the world, non? No need to rush through.” The impatient man allowed him to leave a trail of soft kisses down his jawline and across the hollow of his neck, begging him to bite harder as he stopped to leave a mark. Francis' thumbs rubbed soft circles into the skin of his hip bones, slowly traveling down to the sensitive area near his inner thigh. His hands kneaded into the Frenchman’s stomach desperately, a string of moans slipping through his lips.

“S-Stop fucking with me! You and your... _mm_... stupid accent!”

“I'm not, _mon_ _amour_. I'm just expressing my lust. You don't know what you do to me," Francis breathed against his neck, sending his partner into a fit of shivering. He finally let him drop back onto his dick, and he watched behind his own heavy eyelashes as the red irises rolled back behind high eyelids. He finally had the opportunity to go at his pace. No more of Gilbert's rough staccato, choppy movements- it had finally made way for the smooth and maddening flow of the blonde and all it was worth. His thrusts were steady and deep, rolling his pelvis and pressing their hips flush against each other before removing himself again. He captured the open mouth of his lover in a kiss, twisting their tongues together and adoring the vibrations the collective moans returned.

Everything about Gilbert was perfect, really, even if sometimes his eagerness stumbled him and he overestimated his power of resistance. The first time, centuries ago, when Francis had initially given a shot at bedding him, he was almost scared by how fast he'd stripped his clothes and gotten down to business.

The blonde preferred the slow escalation of the moment, the rising heat and the not-yet-quite-there heaving chests that foreplay brought on. He liked being dulcet with his partners, concentrating all of his passion and want into the palms of his hands so that they could feel his burning love more than they could feel the bedsheets surrounding them. It was just his nature, and reasonably so. He couldn't be the country of love without cultivating a burning need to convey it.

Gilbert was the total opposite, eager to reach the climax of the moment before it had even begun. It was almost like he warred against Francis’ forbearing personality whenever he possibly could, pushing him to thrust faster and bite harder. He felt that it was a waste of his time to be treated “ _like_ _a_ _glass_ _fucking_ _doll_ ”, and stubbornly stated that he'd have no part in it.

Maybe that's why Francis favored him so much over any of the other various countries he'd made love with. He kept having to persist with Gilbert; the past nation never truly gave up until he did, and the satisfaction Francis received when he knew he was free to go as slow as he wanted because the other was too far lost in him was a feeling he didn't think he could get anywhere else.

Whenever Francis decided to go quick, there was no other reason than a climax approaching. It was always him first, full of flowery whispers and words of praise and quivery kisses planted on every available stretch of skin. Even that he did with restraint, but it was a sure far cry from his regular composure.

Gilbert came second, screaming as loud as his cracking voice would allow him and scraping his fingernails over Francis’ back and shoulders like a wild animal. He leaned his head back and shook and did whatever he could manage through his rush, and then collapsed onto the bed next to the blonde.

The country adored how the spent albino tried to get up and help him remove the messy bedsheets even though he could barely move his legs, and how all it took to send him back to sleep was quiet reassurance and a kiss to his forehead.

He adored _him._

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it!!!! this is sorta practice as you see because i'm trying to be more experienced/detailed/good so ummmmmmmm please leave some criticism or any tips and shiz thx babes


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